


First Light

by spacehopper



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 10:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12839604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: For Noct, Ignis has always been home.





	First Light

Noct hears Ignis stir at some ungodly hour, cracking one eye to check the time before rolling over again. He feels the brush of lips on his forehead, and ignores the warm flutter in his chest. It’s all so new, so strange, but it’s—nice. 

He dozes to the sound of Ignis puttering around the small kitchenette, throwing together a meal from the ingredients they’d picked up last night. It’s reminiscent of when he was a teenager, when Ignis took care of him. But it’s not the same.

Throwing aside the sheets, Noctis swings his feet over the edge of the bed and pads into the kitchen, coming up behind Ignis and slipping his arms around his waist. There’s light coming in from the window, so he buries his face in Ignis’s back.

“Morning, Noct,” Ignis says. He continues to cook, but leans back into Noct’s embrace. It’s strange, or it should be strange, but instead it’s almost familiar, like they’ve always been one step from this. He inhales, breathing in the faint smell of sweat and laundry detergent. It’s hot, like it usually is in Lestallum, and truth be told the combined heat of their bodies might be a bit much. But Noct can’t seem to let go.

“Hmm,” Ignis says. Noct can feel the muscles shifting under his shirt, but he’s still too drowsy to react when Ignis spins him around, pressing him against the counter. His eyes widen. This close, the three inches Ignis has on him are more noticeable, enough that Noct has to tilt his head slightly to meet Ignis’s eyes. His hands are on Noct’s hips, burning like brands, and he’s giving him an unreadable look, almost like the look he gives enemies in battle, or a particularly tricky new recipe. Fear rises in his throat. Is Ignis reconsidering? Has he decided that Noct is too mopey, too immature, too difficult? Does he think their positions make it inappropriate?

But Ignis just smiles and presses his forehead against Noct’s, who takes a breath. Feels the tile digging into his back, a stray lock of Ignis’s hair brush against his cheek. The metal of his glasses cool where it brushes his skin. Then he closes his eyes and relaxes, because this is Ignis, and Ignis has always been safe. 

Ignis has always been home.

They stand like that as the minutes pass, and it’s the calmest Noct has felt since they left Insomnia. Maybe even longer. He can hear noise of the city waking up outside, the rumble of engines, the chatter of people going about their business. But it all pales against the sound of their breathing, and the feeling of Ignis lifting his hand to run a finger down his cheek, over his lips. He presses a kiss against the touch, stupid and sentimental, but he’s rewarded with the sharp sound of indrawn breath, the hand moving to cup his cheek, and Ignis leaning in for a kiss.

It’s slower than the kisses they’d shared the night before, frantic with lust, the culmination of something that’d long simmered between them, stirred to life. Noct tries to lick his lips, breaking the kiss and licking Ignis’s instead. He tastes of the berries they’d bought.

“Couldn’t wait?” Noct says with a sly smile. 

“I could say the same of you,” Ignis replies. Noct flushes, but before he can say anything else, Ignis is kissing him again. His hands are lying useless at his side, and he thinks he should probably do something with them. So he reaches up to thread his fingers through Ignis’s hair, loose and fine, lacking the perpetual styling Noct is used to. It’s nice, this Ignis, softer and warmer than his kind but always professional adviser. Because this isn’t the adviser. This is the boy who became the man who tried time after time to perfect one recipe for Noct, and Noct alone.

His fingers tighten, and the urgency of the kiss increases in response, Ignis pressing with his tongue this time. Noct gladly grants him entrance. It’s messy, and neither of them are the most skilled, but it’s better for that, just like how the pastries were always wonderful even when they were never perfect. Their whole bodies are crushed together now, and Noct knows if this goes on much longer, it’ll go past kissing. He warms at the thought. 

Ding.

Ignis pulls back, hand lingering on his waist, the other running slowly down his chest. Noct’s lips twitch into a smile.

“You better get that,” he says.

“Yes,” Ignis says, “I should.” He still doesn’t move, staring at Noct as if he’d been petrified. On impulse, he leans up and kisses Ignis, just a quick peck on the lips.

“To break the spell,” he says.

“That’s for frogs, Noct,” Ignis says. “And I believe that the prince is usually the frog.”

“Well, this time the prince is doing the kissing,” he says. “And his adviser should probably check breakfast.”

“So he should,” Ignis says. His hand rests over Noct’s heart.

“There’ll be time,” Noct says. 

“Not enough.” His fingers dig into Noct’s side.

“Time enough for pancakes,” Noct says, nodding at the stove. “Unless they burn.”

“And we can’t have that.” Ignis finally turns away, going back to the stove, and Noctis wanders over to the table. There are flowers.

“Did you pick these?” he says as Ignis comes over carrying two plates.

To his utter shock, Ignis blushes. “You were sleeping, and there was a woman selling them outside.”

He runs his hand over the dark green leaves, lightly touching one of the yellow petals. 

“I like them,” he says. “Reminds me of you.”

Ignis blinks, then coughs. “Ah, yes.” He sets the plates down and returns to the kitchenette for toppings. When he takes his seat, Noct has already begun digging in.

“Thanks, Ignis,” he says. There are other words he could say, maybe should say, but he thinks they might break the fragile peace they’ve formed between them.

“Always, Noct.”


End file.
